


so, darling, darling, stand by me

by KHart



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anyways, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, I have to be up in 3 hours slkfjsdl, I should've gone to bed, It's 3 am, and soft, becky's amazing and Charlotte knows it, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:05:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16610687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHart/pseuds/KHart
Summary: She’s sitting beside her girlfriend–did she mention she’s bleeding?–and she’s trying not to worry too intensely…Which is hard.Because Charlotte’s a worrier.---Or: Charlotte and Becky after the invasion of Raw by the Smackdown Women's Division and Becky's, subsequent, bloody nose.





	so, darling, darling, stand by me

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the fic comes from the song "Stand By Me" and I recommend listening to the cover by Bootstraps.
> 
> My Tumblr is Flairfatale.

If Charlotte had less self-restraint, she’d be raising hell right about now. She’d have already paved a war path, and the bodies of unlucky producers and assistants and even other superstars would be laid out at the sides of it. 

If Charlotte had less self-restraint, she would have been demanding to know “ _Who did it?_ ” in that cold, icy, imperious and impressive voice The Queen is so known for. The voice that imposes upon its victim, makes them shrink away and give her exactly the information she needs to know. 

If Charlotte had less self-restraint, she’d probably be throwing _actual hands_ with someone. She’d probably end up in the hospital herself. 

But, fortunately, she doesn’t have less self-restraint. She has _just_ the right amount of self-restraint. (She has just the right amount of worry and nausea in her stomach to render her limbs feeling too heavy and incapable of a real fight.)

So, instead, she’s sitting beside her girlfriend, her bleeding girlfriend, in the back of an ambulance, trying to stay out of the way of whatever the paramedics need to do but also ensuring that she doesn’t have to let go. 

Because she needs to be Becky’s tether. Her constant. (She needs the connection too, maybe even a little more.)

She’s sitting beside her girlfriend–did she mention she’s bleeding?–and she’s trying not to worry too intensely… 

Which is hard. 

Because Charlotte’s a worrier.

Which is a highly unsurprising and very well known fact at this point. 

Because she’s always checking up on her friends and her coworkers. She’s always making sure everything’s alright. 

Because if someone’s hurt, she’s there, trying to help in some way. 

“You’re such a mom friend,” Sasha had mumbled to her one time, after she’d brought her ice and a water bottle for a relatively minuscule injury. 

Charlotte merely shrugged in response. She didn’t mind the label. She just wanted to show she cared. She truly just cared so fully that she didn’t know of another way to exist. 

And everyone knew this. They appreciated her for it. 

Most of the time. They appreciated her for it _most of the time._  

Because there’s only one variable that has to be added to the equation for Charlotte’s caring to go from being appreciated to being feared. 

And that variable is the one and only: Becky Lynch. 

Becky Lynch, Charlotte’s girlfriend of almost four years. Becky Lynch, Smackdown’s Women’s Champion. Becky Lynch, The Man. The resident badass of the company. The biggest superstar they’ve got. 

Becky Lynch. 

She’s the _only_ variable that needs to be inserted into the equation of an injury or incident for Charlotte’s soft caring to turn into fierce, protective, nearly ruthless caring. 

When Becky Lynch is injured, there is no possible force or phenom that can stop the wrath Charlotte is ready to lay upon the cause. Even if that cause is herself. (Especially if it’s herself.)

When Becky is injured, Charlotte has tunnel vision. She’s concerned with nothing but making sure the other woman’s okay. She’s concerned with nobody else’s feelings and thoughts and actions. 

When Becky is injured, so is Charlotte, because Becky is her other half. 

They’re a unit. When one is down, the other feels the blow and the weight too. 

That’s just how it is. 

So, imagine the turmoil and tumultuous rumblings of worry in Charlotte’s stomach when she noticed Becky’s face and arms and hands covered in blood during their invasion of Raw. 

Imagine the intense burning need to be close to Becky, to check on Becky, to ensure that she couldn’t get hurt further, burning through her veins. 

Imagine the guilt already forming in her chest at the thought that she might’ve been able to prevent it had she chosen a different person to “attack” in the ring. Imagine the heaviness in her lungs at the thought that she wasn’t able to reach for and go to her girlfriend for the entirety of the time after she noticed the injury. 

Because of appearances. Because of their blood feud. Because they were still live, and Becky was still in character. 

Of course, Becky was still in character. 

She was so good. So resilient. So strong. There could be no other way. 

Becky pushed through, like she always does. 

She made an impact. A statement. Like she always does. 

She was amazing. Like she always is, and she held onto The Man persona until the very last second that she had to. 

And then she stumbled a little and let Charlotte support her around the waist. 

She was still steady, surprisingly, but she let some of her strength seep out for the sake of feeling the pain finally. 

Charlotte picked up every ounce of slack that she needed to, and just a little more after that. 

She had to fight the urge to just sweep the woman into her hold entirely, off her feet and to the awaiting ambulance. 

Becky’s blood-stained fingers found hers as they separated a little, as Charlotte reluctantly moved away to let the paramedics guide her girlfriend into the back of the vehicle. They squeezed and tightened just barely. 

And Charlotte hadn’t even contemplated letting Becky go alone. It never would’ve even made the list of possibilities. 

So, when Becky asked the paramedics, “She can come with?” in a quieter voice, it was surprising, in a way. Because Charlotte hadn’t even thought about the fact that they might not let her, and she was suddenly filled with the thought of maybe having to strong-arm these people into cooperating. 

Her shoulders squared on instinct, but it was for naught, as the man closest to her just nodded and said, “Yeah, she can come with.”

Some relief flooded through her, but not enough.

Because Becky was too quiet, but her hand was still so tight in its grip on Charlotte’s own. And the two factors were so disconcertingly dissimilar to one another that it was making Charlotte herself feel a little unsteady. 

But she refused to let go. 

She still hasn’t, and she won’t for a while.

She’s watching Becky’s face–has been since they got settled–which is intentionally relaxed, as any extra movement or strain obviously causes unnecessary pain. 

The woman’s eyes are closed, and Charlotte selfishly wishes for them to be looking at her instead, because she needs to see them. She selfishly thinks about her own need for stability.

She even thinks about calling Becky’s name, soft and gentle, so as not to startle her, but she doesn’t. She remains quiet. She lets Becky rest, under the sounds of the engine rumbling and the murmurs of the medics. 

They’d managed to clean up a good amount of the red on Becky’s skin, but they couldn’t really touch the immediate area around her nose, so remnants of the color linger; they mix with the blue and black areas that are already working to mar her features. 

Charlotte clenches her jaw tight. She strokes her thumb lightly over the back of Becky’s hand, over her knuckles and back again. 

Her gaze lingers to her own actions. She blinks a little at emotional, adrenaline-feuled but adrenaline-less tears that try to form in her eyes. 

There’s no reason for her to cry, so she won’t let herself. 

She sniffs lightly. 

The hold on her fingers shifts a little. 

“Don’t ya go cryin’ on me, Charlie,” comes the low utterance, drawing Charlotte’s eyes up, back to Becky’s face. 

She sees that her selfish wish has been realized, as Becky’s dark orbs meet her own, and she hates that the heaviness in her remains, as they don’t bring the relief she thought they would. 

In fact, they _kind_ _of_ make Charlotte feel worse, because, unlike on her face, the pain Becky’s experiencing is visible within the way they shine. 

And if Charlotte hates anything with a true, burning passion, it’s seeing Becky in pain, so, she curls her toes into the soles of her boots.

She tries not to think about how badly she wants to punch something–someone–and she smiles a little. She lifts Becky’s knuckles to her lips despite their condition and presses a faint kiss to them. 

“‘M not,” she says. “‘M actually just contemplating how I’m going to get away with murder once I find out who did it.” 

Becky smirks at that, not in the way she’s been smirking for the cameras lately, but a more amused, more serene smirk. The kind of smirk she uses when she’s allowed to show her peace and her true personality. The kind of smirk she uses around Charlotte most exclusively. 

“S’a good thing I haven’t told you who then, isn’t it? Saved a life today, I did.”

Charlotte hums.

“For now,” she concedes. “But I will find out. And, now, I guess I’m going to have to find someone else to help me hide the body. Since you’re out of commission.”

Becky arches an eyebrow.

“One broken nose, and I’m already out as your partner in crime? Geez. S’a little harsh. Don’t’cha think?”

Charlotte shakes her head. 

“No. Never. You know you’re always my number one. Just gotta keep your hands clean for this one, I think.”

Becky blinks a little sluggishly at her, the pain is starting to seep out from its confines in her eyes and etch itself into the furrow of her eyebrows.

“‘Mkay,” she whispers. “If you say so, baby.”

Charlotte’s fond, warm, protective feeling comes back. She moves her other hand up to completely envelop Becky’s. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” she asks, quiet and real, low and a little raspy with emotion. 

Becky’s smirk morphs some into a real smile. 

“Well, I do I try.” 

“And you succeed.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Becky squeezes her fingers.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Charlotte is almost overcome with the urge to kiss her in the moment, to give Becky more than her word to go by, but she doesn’t. Obviously. 

A while passes, maybe another minute or two, where they just sit together, feeling only the presence of the other at their sides.

Charlotte’s still caught up a little in her mind, in how she could’ve somehow, some way, prevented it or stopped it. She’s still thinking about if she’ll get fired for getting into a legitimate fight with one of her fellow superstars. She’s still thinking about how she wishes she could’ve gotten to Becky to check on her quicker. 

She doesn’t know what Becky’s thinking. She thinks Becky might not be thinking anything. 

But then Becky whispers a faint, “Hey,” to draw her attention back, and Charlotte is pulled back into the immediate, back into who needs her. Charlotte lets herself be present, because Becky’s doing her best to return the favor, even through her pain. 

Becky’s sitting before her, not as The Man, but as _her woman_ , who’s in pain but still looks so, _so_ pleased with herself. So pleased with _them_ and the statement they’d made. 

And she deserves to be Charlotte’s sole focus. 

“I love you.”

Charlotte’s lingering distractions–thoughts of destroying and being distraught–fade away even further. 

“Thanks for being with me. Always.”

Charlotte tries not to let her throat bob as she swallows. 

“I love you too,” she replies. “You’re my girl. _Always_. Through anyone and anything.”

“Oh yeah? What if my nose is crooked and never looks the same again after this?”

“I’ll still kiss it every morning, of course.”

“And what if I lose on Sunday? Or lose my spot in the match because of this? What if they stop pushing me so much?”

“I’ll pick you back up and help you dust off. Though, knowing you, that’s a very unlikely outcome. I think it might be impossible for you to lose any of your momentum, right now, my love.”

“Always safe to check,” Becky says. “‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I’ve got, if you aren’t there to share it with me, Charlie. Even my losses don’t feel as important if you’re not there. Nothing feels as important, if you’re not there.”

Charlotte silently marvels at how Becky never fails to steal her breath away.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re my other half. ‘Cause I don’t want to go anywhere without you, and I don’t believe I ever will.”

“And if I have to go somewhere you can’t follow? Like if they have to give me surgery for this or somethin’?” 

“I’ll be waiting in the same spot for you to come back to me, Becks. I’m not going anywhere.”

The ambulance pulls to a stop that feels final this time. There’s the slow hiss of the brakes releasing.

“You promise?” Becky asks her, as the medics start to move. 

“With my pinky,” Charlotte ensures.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr is Flairfatale.


End file.
